That her people would burn in the hands of this unstoppable fever.
And, at the end of all of this, she would have only herself to blame.
A gentle hand shook Emmery’s shoulder, pulling her from yet another nightmare. She nearly leapt out of her own skin as she sprang up in bed, her lungs stained, and her skin and sheets damp with sweat.
Her head swivelled as she took in the shadowy room. It was cut by only a sliver of moonlight, but her eyes locked on the dark figure crouched at her bedside. She yelped, and her fist swung, connecting with—a chin? Whatever it was, pain sang through her hand and radiated up her arm.
“Ouch,” the intruder grumbled.
Oh, fuck. Of course it was him.
Destonne rubbed his jaw. He was dressed in a dark cloak and the scent of night air clung to him. What was he doing here and why did it seem he’d just returned from outside? It had to be at least—
Well, she had no clock for reference, but at least two in the morning.
Emmery clutched her aching fist to her chest, her knuckles throbbing. “Oh, it’s just you. Damn it, were you trying to scare me half to death?”
“Just me? Does that mean you can strike me as you please?”
“You frightenedme,” she gasped, her heart thundering. “What did you expect?”
“Not to be punched,” he groaned then dropped his hand.
“Baby,” she muttered under her breath.
Punching Destonne had felt good and he damn well deserved it for what he’d done today. He’d humiliated her, stolen her property, and ruined her book. Or she supposed it was reallyhisbook, but either way, it was wrong.
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded. She clutched the covers to her chin and squinted her eyes to make out his features in the dark.
“You were crying in your sleep. Sobbing, really.” He glanced behind him at the ajar door. “I thought you might be in distress and I knocked but you didn’t answer.”
Emmery rubbed at her tear-streaked cheek. “Sorry.”
“So you apologize for not answering the door but not for punching me?”
A few tears escaped her eyes and she let them fall, thinking it was too dark for him to see, but Destonne tracked them as they rolled down her cheeks. His brows drew together and his hand twitched, like he thought about wiping them away. Vesper had done that for her the night they summoned Maela as she battled through that agony.
But Destonne wasn’t Vesper. He wasn’t even Emmery’s friend.
Then her stomach rolled. And lurched.
Emmery stumbled from the bed, legs wobbly, head swimming, and wine burning the back of her throat as saliva pooled in her mouth. She threw open the door to the bathing room, crashed to her knees, and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet in one violent heave. The alcohol burned like vile acid, her eyes and nose watery, vision blurry.
She pressed her palm against the cool white tile as her body tensed and another wave overcame her. This was self-inflicted,laced with shame she wouldn’t have felt otherwise, which made it so much worse. A groan rose from the depths of her soul. Oh gods, she wished it would stop.Please, stop.
A hand pressed into her clammy back, and another swept her hair aside to collect it at her neck. Her body convulsed again, but there was nothing left. Nothing but a numbing despair in her belly.
“How much wine have you had?” Destonne asked, shockingly calm.
Had he seen the empty bottle at her bedside? Likely. And he’d witnessed her drinking anyway, especially that night after they visited Reize. He knew who and what she was. Knew all of her weaknesses and revelled in them. Collected them for later to use against her.
Destonne rubbed a soothing pattern of circles into her back as she gagged again. She couldn’t have pulled away if she tried, but she didn’t want to. It was nice to have someone hold her, even if it was him. Even out of pity.
“Tell me you’re not doing this alone every night,” he said, his voice so low she barely heard him.
But why would he even ask? He didn’t care. She was merely a means to an end: a way to retrieve his magic. He just needed to drag her through this pactum and then he would toss her aside like everyone else. Once she wasn’t of use anymore.
Emmery spat the acrid taste of bile into the bowl. “Why do you care?”